Matthew Murdock is an enigma. The son of a former boxer who died mysteriously when he was young, and a victim of a chemical spill that left him blind... he thought he was cursed. You know the story. He was an orphan for a time, raised by Catholic nuns who tried to teach him the straight and narrow. Trained under a mysterious man named Stick, and turned into a weapon... only to be abandoned yet again. A recent graduate from Columbia, and a surprising member of their gymnastics team. He had a number of offers from prestigious law firms lined up for him, but he opted to start a practice in Hell's Kitchen with his college roommate, Foggy Nelson.
The practice is only a year old, and Nelson and Murdock have already had a number of clients recently that they just can't seem to help. Vandalism, break-ins, and anonymous threats have been given to the residents and store owners 45th Street. With a lack of evidence, there is little the police is willing to do. This appears to be happening all over Hell's Kitchen. Someone is driving the good people of Hell's Kitchen out, and the Justice system is ill-equipped to deal with the anonymous harassment.
Matt, in response to recent strange news reports detailing masked men and women, has opted to follow in their footsteps to bring his community justice and answers. He doesn't don a fancy costume or neat gadgets, opting instead to wrap his fists and cover his hair and eyes. But the criminals and shadowy figures operating in the fringes of Hell's Kitchen are starting to hear rumors. The Devil doesn't wear horns, and doesn't fight with a pitchfork. The Devil is a flash of white in the night, and he sees you before you see him.
S A M P L E P O S T:
Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back in the old office chair. The soft footfalls on the old carpet were like war drums in his head: confident, short stride, lead foot... Foggy. As the door opened, Matt was already closing the laptop lid and removing his earbuds.
"Just got off the phone with a Detective North... the good old boys in Blue are calling it a wash. No DNA or fingerprints, No CCTV in the area, no witnesses coming forward. No suspects-"
"No one to arrest, no one to sue for damages, and insurance will claim it's a scam." Matt spun the chair around, removing his red-tinted glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath, a wave of anger boiling in his chest. "This is the third shop this has happened to in three weeks... nothing was stolen. How is this not a priority?"
"NYPD is too busy looking out for a big spider or something to focus on 'domestic disturbances.'" Foggy shook his head in disgust, his cheap windbreaker rubbing against itself from his movements. Matt always hated that jacket. He spun around in his chair, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm calling it a night. It's 7, my dad just got back from the hospital so my ma is having us all over for dinner. She specifically asked me to invite you, in case you-"
"Thank you, but not tonight, Foggy." Matt gave a weak smile, his expression darkening as he felt that well of anger rising like bile in his throat. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep it in. "It just doesn't feel like enough."
Foggy froze, his mouth agape as the wheels turned in his head. "We just have to wait and see... maybe hire a private investigator to keep an eye out, try and get some pictures... so long as they take seven bucks and a Bodega punch card as a down payment." Foggy smiled awkwardly, waiting for some kind of amused reaction from his friend. It never came. "Right... look, Matt... you should get some sleep. We'll regroup in the morning, see if we can work out a game plan."
Foggy gave Matt a soft smile before leaving the office, with Matt waiting until he could hear the front door to their shared office space close. Matt nimbly slid open his desk drawer, removing the set of blood stained clothes and bandana.
He couldn't do more.
But maybe the devil could.
♦♦♦
"A three on one doesn't seem very fair."
A lone man was backed into a corner by three young men sporting windbreakers, a large depiction of a dragon hand-embroidered on the back. They understood what he said, but the leader of them pulled a knife from his jacket pocket, making a show of flicking it open with a single motion. They were all surprisingly calm, the booze on their breath permeating like a stinking cloud. They had done this so many times it was just like going into the office. The lone man they had targeted reached up to tighten the white bandana that covered his red hair and blue eyes.
They deserve this.
Before they could even make the demand for money, Matt lunged forward and closed the distance with the assailant on the right. He didn't even have time to lift up his hands in defense before the sucker punch dislocated his jaw. Matt quickly rotated around, delivering a roundhouse kick behind him into the mugger with the knife. Matt smiled as he heard the wind get squeezed out of his lungs in an instant. Their heartrates had doubled in a second. The last mugger remaining scanned the ground wildly, before stumbling over himself to grab something off the ground.
The scraping sound resonated in Matt's head. Stone on stone... maybe cement? Too small, too light, with the way the man was raising it over his head.
A brick.
The mugger quickly swung the brick down towards Matt, who responded by simply leaning to the side, lifting one arm to catch the assailant's elbow. Matt reached up to grab the brick with his other hand, swiftly yanking it free. His own heartbeat thrummed in his ears. Blood rushed through his veins. He smacked the brick into his assailant's kneecap, a sickening crunch and a loud cry echoing through the alley. Matt left the man to roll in his misery, crying and blubbering. There was one still standing, who had managed to recover his knife but not his confidence. The mugger was shaking in his sneakers, holding the knife out before him like a ward against evil. Matt didn't look at him, instead facing the man he had just brutally injured.
"11th and 45th."
The mugger's heartbeat was quick, but it didn't beat any faster or slower. No reaction, other than a slight intake of air. Confusion. He didn't know.
"Who... what are you?" His accent wasn't particularly thick. He was from here.
He should know better.
"The Devil."
S U P P O R T I N G C A S T:
The Enforcers
The Owl
Foggy Nelson
Karen Page
Turk Barret
Frank Farnum
Cole North
Wish List:
The Eraser
Vigilante (Adrian Chase / Alan Welles)
Blockbuster (Roland Desmond)
P O S T C A T A L O G:
A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.
Matthew Murdock is an enigma. The son of a former boxer who died mysteriously when he was young, and a victim of a chemical spill that left him blind... he thought he was cursed. You know the story. He was an orphan for a time, raised by Catholic nuns who tried to teach him the straight and narrow. Trained under a mysterious man named Stick, and turned into a weapon... only to be abandoned yet again. A recent graduate from Columbia, and a surprising member of their gymnastics team. He had a number of offers from prestigious law firms lined up for him, but he opted to start a practice in Hell's Kitchen with his college roommate, Foggy Nelson.
The practice is only a year old, and Nelson and Murdock have already had a number of clients recently that they just can't seem to help. Vandalism, break-ins, and anonymous threats have been given to the residents and store owners 45th Street. With a lack of evidence, there is little the police is willing to do. This appears to be happening all over Hell's Kitchen. Someone is driving the good people of Hell's Kitchen out, and the Justice system is ill-equipped to deal with the anonymous harassment.
Matt, in response to recent strange news reports detailing masked men and women, has opted to follow in their footsteps to bring his community justice and answers. He doesn't don a fancy costume or neat gadgets, opting instead to wrap his fists and cover his hair and eyes. But the criminals and shadowy figures operating in the fringes of Hell's Kitchen are starting to hear rumors. The Devil doesn't wear horns, and doesn't fight with a pitchfork. The Devil is a flash of white in the night, and he sees you before you see him.
S A M P L E P O S T:
Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back in the old office chair. The soft footfalls on the old carpet were like war drums in his head: confident, short stride, lead foot... Foggy. As the door opened, Matt was already closing the laptop lid and removing his earbuds.
"Just got off the phone with a Detective North... the good old boys in Blue are calling it a wash. No DNA or fingerprints, No CCTV in the area, no witnesses coming forward. No suspects-"
"No one to arrest, no one to sue for damages, and insurance will claim it's a scam." Matt spun the chair around, removing his red-tinted glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath, a wave of anger boiling in his chest. "This is the third shop this has happened to in three weeks... nothing was stolen. How is this not a priority?"
"NYPD is too busy looking out for a big spider or something to focus on 'domestic disturbances.'" Foggy shook his head in disgust, his cheap windbreaker rubbing against itself from his movements. Matt always hated that jacket. He spun around in his chair, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm calling it a night. It's 7, my dad just got back from the hospital so my ma is having us all over for dinner. She specifically asked me to invite you, in case you-"
"Thank you, but not tonight, Foggy." Matt gave a weak smile, his expression darkening as he felt that well of anger rising like bile in his throat. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep it in. "It just doesn't feel like enough."
Foggy froze, his mouth agape as the wheels turned in his head. "We just have to wait and see... maybe hire a private investigator to keep an eye out, try and get some pictures... so long as they take seven bucks and a Bodega punch card as a down payment." Foggy smiled awkwardly, waiting for some kind of amused reaction from his friend. It never came. "Right... look, Matt... you should get some sleep. We'll regroup in the morning, see if we can work out a game plan."
Foggy gave Matt a soft smile before leaving the office, with Matt waiting until he could hear the front door to their shared office space close. Matt nimbly slid open his desk drawer, removing the set of blood stained clothes and bandana.
He couldn't do more.
But maybe the devil could.
♦♦♦
"A three on one doesn't seem very fair."
A lone man was backed into a corner by three young men sporting windbreakers, a large depiction of a dragon hand-embroidered on the back. They understood what he said, but the leader of them pulled a knife from his jacket pocket, making a show of flicking it open with a single motion. They were all surprisingly calm, the booze on their breath permeating like a stinking cloud. They had done this so many times it was just like going into the office. The lone man they had targeted reached up to tighten the white bandana that covered his red hair and blue eyes.
They deserve this.
Before they could even make the demand for money, Matt lunged forward and closed the distance with the assailant on the right. He didn't even have time to lift up his hands in defense before the sucker punch dislocated his jaw. Matt quickly rotated around, delivering a roundhouse kick behind him into the mugger with the knife. Matt smiled as he heard the wind get squeezed out of his lungs in an instant. Their heartrates had doubled in a second. The last mugger remaining scanned the ground wildly, before stumbling over himself to grab something off the ground.
The scraping sound resonated in Matt's head. Stone on stone... maybe cement? Too small, too light, with the way the man was raising it over his head.
A brick.
The mugger quickly swung the brick down towards Matt, who responded by simply leaning to the side, lifting one arm to catch the assailant's elbow. Matt reached up to grab the brick with his other hand, swiftly yanking it free. His own heartbeat thrummed in his ears. Blood rushed through his veins. He smacked the brick into his assailant's kneecap, a sickening crunch and a loud cry echoing through the alley. Matt left the man to roll in his misery, crying and blubbering. There was one still standing, who had managed to recover his knife but not his confidence. The mugger was shaking in his sneakers, holding the knife out before him like a ward against evil. Matt didn't look at him, instead facing the man he had just brutally injured.
"11th and 45th."
The mugger's heartbeat was quick, but it didn't beat any faster or slower. No reaction, other than a slight intake of air. Confusion. He didn't know.
"Who... what are you?" His accent wasn't particularly thick. He was from here.
He should know better.
"The Devil."
S U P P O R T I N G C A S T:
The Enforcers
The Owl
Foggy Nelson
Karen Page
Turk Barret
Frank Farnum
Cole North
Wish List:
The Eraser
Vigilante (Adrian Chase / Alan Welles)
Blockbuster (Roland Desmond)
P O S T C A T A L O G:
A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.
The only good thing about nearly drowning in shitty, disgusting water was that it all muffled the sound of a body being crunched under concrete. Not that there were many things good about the world crumbling around Rory. More corpses, cracking architecture, electrical lines, and a sinking floor... he had better days. He had managed to fall on his ass again, and watched as a gurney began sliding through the rushing water his direction. He blinked, steadying his vision and focus. He'd recognize those wings anywhere. He moved in its direction, but the waves and unsteady flooring kept fumbling his movements. It crashed into the wall, eliciting a small unintelligible cry from Rory.
Of course, the water seemed to surge a little behind him. He heard noise coming from the hallway, past the door. It could be help. It could be a trap. He didn't care. He scrambled through the water towards the gurney, vision blurred from water clinging to his eyelashes. As stone fell from above, Rory braced himself and kept moving. Every shift, every change in environment, was but a momentary obstacle in his path. Loose debris and old medical equipment battered his skin and tore through his clothes, but he hardly seemed to notice. He only stopped when he heard the doorway into the room seem to crumble and collapse, along with a major shift in the water levels. He turned back, wiping droplets from his eyes, to see Amma and Jim enter into the room. The familiar tendrils of Amma's destructive power coursed through the waves. Rory braced himself up against the wall, the sensation of her powers decimating the water molecules around him unnerving to say the least. The sudden change in pressure caused him to lose his balance, catching himself at the last moment. His eyes met the dragon but briefly, his expression grateful.
She upheld her part. He needed to uphold his.
Rory turned his gaze back towards the gurney, rushing to Haven's side and immediately giving a quick scan. Her eyes were open. She was awake. He opted to quickly move his hands to the leather restraints, fiddling with the buckles as his panicked questions poured out of his mouth. "Fuck, fuck... Haven, Haven, are you ok? Did they hurt you? They didn't hurt your wings, did they? Are you awake? Can you walk? We're going to get you out of here. I've got you." His hands shook as they worked the restraints, wildly flinging the straps out of his way once they were clear.
The sound of heavy footsteps nearby wrenched Haven’s momentary relief from her. She flinched where she laid on the gurney, fully expecting to see Daedalus as she turned her head towards the presence beside her. Fear and pain melted into shock as she quickly looked Rory over, as if she couldn’t believe he was standing next to her. Her eyebrows bunched together, and then rose as her relief returned to her.
Each strap undone from her body felt like a fresh breath of air. Her eyes followed him as he moved, tears beginning to slide down her temples. With her wrists freed first, Haven hastily moved her heavy arms to claw at the back of her head. She tugged at the strap that held the gag in place, eager to remove the rubber from her mouth . She tried to remain patient as Rory began to work on the leather that held her wings but her frustration soon boiled over as more tears ran down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands as she laid her head back against the table once more. So many emotions were passing through her at once. It took all of her will not to break down as she waited to be freed of the horrid gurney beneath her.
Rory's heart broke at her reactions, his jaw clenched tight as he did his best to compose his emotions. He had work to do. He took only a moment to breathe, steadying his hands. He had to focus. He quickly released the remaining straps with a fervor. Once they were freed, he immediately lifted his hands up to touch the sides of Haven's face. ”I'm here… but we need to leave, ok? We don't have much time.”
Haven removed her hands from her face as she felt Rory get to work on the gag. She first took a deep breath as her jaw was finally allowed to relax, and then she worked her jaw around as she tried to relieve it of the feeling. His touch against her cheeks grounded her, keeping her emotions from taking control. She looked into those clear blue eyes and found momentary strength within them. He was here. She was safe with him, no matter what circumstance they were stuck in now. She gave him a small nod before she sniffed as she tried to compose herself too. She’d have all the time she needed to cry and scream and rage once they escaped.
“I still have my wings,” Her voice was quiet, her throat and mouth dry and sore, but she wanted him to know. “I’m okay.” She looked between his eyes once more before she took one of his hands into her own. She used her other to slowly push herself up from the table. Her body ached with each movement, her wings once again feeling like dead weight along her back, but she eventually swung her legs over the side of the gurney. Her feet, wearing only the socks she’d fallen asleep in, barely grazed the slanted concrete floor.
She didn’t waste a moment as she slid off the side. Her balance wavered as she placed her weight onto her legs, arms reaching to Rory as she tried to stay upright. “Why?” Haven asked, her eyes searching the debris that gathered along the wall beside them as she tried to figure out how the room had come to be this way. The bottom of her socks were becoming wet from the still damp floor. She thought about her wet wings, and the cold sensation that she’d felt. None of it made sense.
”I… I don't know. Just watch your step.” Rory swung his shoulder under Haven's arms, giving her something to lean on as he took a cautionary step forward. The ground felt unstable, and he knew he didn't have a lot of time left with his vision. He just had to make it to the stairs. He called out. ”I've got her… let's go!”
Rory felt his heart race as he stared into the abyss. Compounding fear around Haven's fate and suspicion of Katja swarmed in his stomach. In that moment of hesitation as they stood in front of the door, Rory's eyes briefly glanced towards Katja. Unless she had been invited to secret campus raves he hadn't heard about... he was unable to come up with an explanation for why she would know this place. When Katja volunteered to go first, he had no objections. If they were walking into a trap, Katja could take it. If she was the trap... he'd rather her be in front of him than behind. He knew how fast she could take him out of she really wanted to, and he'd take every advantage he could.
Rory gave Harper a quick look, eyebrows raised with a nod in Katja's direction when her back was turned to them. He didn't want to risk whispering, and he didn't have enough time to explain. He was just banking on the resident smartass to be able to pick up that he didn't feel quite right about their resident tank, in the event something did happen. Out of those gathered, Harper was the only one he was confident would be able to come up with a clever solution. Or, god-forbid, find him if he went missing next.
Haven would know what he meant.
Rory's fists clenched as he stared down the abyss. They were walking into the lion's den. He slung his duffel bag off his shoulder, tossing it at the side of the entrance. He considered bringing the bat... but odds were his hands were going to be full helping Haven out of this mess. He had Blackjack at his back. If things went south he could borrow their strengths. Hopefully that would be enough. He took a step towards Harper, taking a breath as he focused his efforts on sensing the field of energy around them. It was always easier with somatics, isolating the HZE ions just enough to borrow the right one. The transformation was quick, and he made sure to keep his eyes closed as he felt the odd sensation in his skull. The pressure behind the eyes would be excruciating if it weren't for the numbness of his nervous system. When he opened his eyes, he squinted a little. It took him a moment of blinking to remember how to switch between the different types of vision, grunting when he accidentally shifted to night vision while looking towards the sky. Once he had his vision back, he stepped into the spooky stairwell.
She had to be there. She had to be ok.
Nightvision made watching his step far easier in the low-light. It also helped him to settle on firm footing when the world around him shook. He immediately crouched low, rocking his weight backwards a little to prevent himself from toppling forward. Most of the quaking shot him into the wall, which proved a less than pleasant sensation. He fared better than Katja, however. It took him a moment to recognize the sound. It sounded a bit like something falling... but that wouldn't...
Explosions.
Katja called out from the bottom, lighting up a flashlight. “I’m fine! “Coast seems clear, there’s nothing here that seems out of the ordinary-”
Rory took the remaining stairs two at a time, practically tripping his way down the remaining steps. As he reached the bottom, his foot splashed into water. He looked about, his vision catching reflections of light in the ground. That didn't seem right... this wasn't a natural cave, this was a hallway. It took his eyes a second to process that it wasn't just standing water... the water was moving. “Guys! Unless any of you can breathe underwater, we’re gonna have to hurry!”
Rory looked up in the direction Katja was looking, and quickly slipped past her. His feet splashed with every step, his running shoes and socks soaked through in seconds. That didn't stop him as he charged through the water as it began to reach his ankles, and then his shins. He didn't care about being cautious anymore. This place was flooding... and if Haven was still here, it meant she didn't have much time left. Rory rushed his way down the hallway towards the closed door, water rushing through the cracks between it and the door-frame.
Rory dipped his shoulder towards the door-handle, tilting his head away from the impact as he dived forward. Wood splintered and cracked, groaning as it was forced between rushing water and over 200 lbs of athlete. It cracked open part-way, enough for Rory to stumble through before slamming shut behind him. Rory didn't bother looking back, accidentally catching a mouthful of grimy water as he scrambled to his feet. He spat and spluttered, his eyes looking around wildly. The ceiling looked like it had already been water damaged for quite some time, though more fresh cracks and fissures in the ceiling poured water into the rapidly filling room. It was nearing his knees by the time he managed to get a better sense of where he was and what was happening, the sound of his teammates splashing down the hallway behind him.
A couple small objects brushed up against his legs as he took a step forward. His looked down, catching a glimpse of what appeared to be bottle caps. He watched them ride the currents of water past him, before he felt something much large and more firm slam into his knee. He fell as his leg buckled, water rushing up over him and into his face. Rory instinctively lifted his arm to try and block the water from getting into his eyes and mouth. When he looked up at what had hit him, he felt his stomach lurch at the sight. Blood still oozed from a hole in the head of the deranged, smiling corpse.
Rory screamed, panic and fear radiating out as he blinked to switch to thermal vision. He scrambled back up to his feet, fighting the waves and corpses flowing in his direction, as he desperately scanned the room.
Rory’s eyes locked on Amma, the world seeming dull and muted as all he could see were the recordings playing back in his mind. Amma’s cryptic conversation with Haven, the sight of what she had done to save her… and the sight of her power rolling through Haven’s wings. The two that arrived there to help were two of the last people Rory wanted to involve. When his eyes turned to Katja, he instantly looked away. The last time he saw her, she was covered in blood and viscera. It was so easy for the two of them to kill… and now he was dragging Harper into a mess with them.
“Thank you… Amma, But Haven isn’t just another statistic.”
"No, no, she won't. I made a promise I would never let someone suffer what I have. To become..." There was a pause in her words, as red tendrils of power radiated from her form.
"The world has enough monsters."
”Glad you’re here… just waiting on the rest of the team.”
A small exhale left Rory’s lips. After everything, nothing had changed. Same speech, same act. The forced, weak smile on his lips showed gratitude. It disgusted him to twist his face like that. He took a few steps towards Amma on their approach, making sure to keep Amma between himself and Katja. He got close, enough that that sickening feeling of her field of influence crawled over his skin. His faint scars itched with familiarity.
While his smile remained, his whispered words were slick with disdain as he leaned in close. ”I trust you’ll be good to your word… she reminds you of someone, after all.” He paused for a fraction of a second, just long enough to let any semblance of recognition slip in. ”If your powers touch Haven again… or you threaten her, I’ll finish what we started in the Trials.”
“Yeah?” Amma breathed, a whisper punctured through her words donned in a warning, a manifest of the creature that recognized the man before her, leaned in close as she canted her head and dropped her lashes against the sudden glow captured in her eyes. “Don't forget it was I that saved her while you were running around in a mask.”
“Twice.”
The fake smile remained plastered on his face as he leaned back, looking down at Amma. It failed to reach his eyes. He lifted a hand, placing it on her shoulder and giving a small squeeze. Anger ran through his veins like ice, but she was right. He took a breath, and gave a small nod. ”I saw.” He looked down at the marks on his arms, before slowly removing his hand from her shoulder. The smile on his face slipped away. Ego tripping, threats... those weren't him. Those were...
Rory clutched at the strap of his bag. This wasn't the time for this. ”I made her a promise. And I need help keeping it.”
Something visibly coiled through Amma at his words, something unmarked and unnamed that writhed against the hand clasped over her shoulder whilst she swept her gaze up to meet his frigid glare that marked her on the spot for everything that went unsaid between them. Her fingers splayed and cracked, nails marked into her palms as a shuddering breath swept through her lungs and inflated on a trembling inhale from her fury bristling in response. Amma exhaled on a nod, reigning in the rage, clamping down on the red that angrily sluiced away beneath her skin and thrummed down her back liken to a serpent tongue that flicked away at her spine.
“I'll make sure you're able to keep that promise. Just like mine.”
Rory gave a nod, the exhaustion on his face evident as he turned away, walking away a few paces. He folded his arms over his chest, his nails digging into his skin as he desperately tried to keep everything in. She was right. No matter all his big talk… he was right there. He should have woken up. He should have locked the window. He should have known they would come. He should have done something, anything, to save her. And now… he was just tagging along. He readjusted the strap of his duffle bag, just to give his hands something to do as he buried his anger and frustration down deeper and deeper. Amma knew he was useless here. Harper wasn't at 100% and was still doing more than he had. Katja would break down doors and walls all on her own until she found her. Rory couldn't do anything but follow their lead.
Rory's head felt heavy as the bleary fog of waking up clouded his senses. It took him a few moments to notice his phone alarm had gone off. He pulled back the covers, trying to be careful of Haven's wings as he slid out of bed to silence the alarm. His eyes shifted to the open window, and then to the bright sky. He looked down at his phone, startled by the time. This wasn't his first alarm… this was an emergency one he set to remind himself to take a shower before class. His eyes shifted back to the bed, ready to wake Haven up. But she wasn't there.
Rory's vision was blurry as he rubbed the weariness out of his eyes. At first, he was hurt. They had made a habit out of going for a morning jog together. Though, the pain turned to guilt. He had lied to her, perhaps she needed time to think over everything. He sighed, resigning himself to take a shower and skip out on his morning workout. He slid on some boxers, and walked over to pick up a towel he left drying near the window from the day before. He nearly tripped into the wall, his foot aching slightly from stepping on something soft but firm. He looked down towards his feet.
Haven's shoes were still there.
And so was her bag.
Rory dropped the towel he had managed to snag, and rushed to his phone. He quickly unlocked it, and scrolled through his contacts. He hit Haven's number first. His heart plummeted as he heard a distinct buzzing coming from her bag. He ended the call, moving up a contact in his phone list. He tapped her name, and lifted the phone to his ear again.
As soon as he heard Harper pick up the phone, Rory's panicked voice practically screamed into the receiver. ”They took Haven! Right out of my room, middle of the night! She's gone! She fucking said it would happen! Bastards!”
Harper woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest as the shrill sound of her alarm clock pierced the early morning silence. The blurry world around her slowly came into focus, and she squinted against the soft, golden glow of her desk lamp, which was still on from the night before. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog from her mind and shake off the remnants of sleep. As she took a deep breath, the familiar scent of the sea mingled with the crisp morning air seeping through the slightly open window, bringing a soothing calm that began to ease her racing heart.
Harper’s desk was a chaotic landscape of crumpled notes, thick textbooks, and a collection of empty coffee cups, each one a clear sign of her marathon study session that had stretched well into the night. She had dozed off with her head resting on an open textbook, her notebook beside her filled with hastily scribbled equations and half-formed ideas, evidence of her frantic efforts to catch up. Despite the disarray, a small, satisfied smile played on her lips as she surveyed the scene. She had done it; she had finally caught up on all the work she had missed, and the sense of accomplishment was enough to make the mess seem almost beautiful.
Almost. She hadn’t quite lost her marbles yet.
Stifling a yawn, Harper got up and started cleaning up the mess, her thoughts drifting to the day ahead. She had planned to spend it shopping with some members of her team, hoping the lighthearted activity would relieve their individual stresses and help her reconnect with specific ones like Katja. The last time they’d talked, Katja had seemed burdened, and Harper hoped this outing might help uncover those issues, which were bound to be compounded thanks to the trials. However, a nagging doubt lingered in the back of her mind. What if the outing didn’t go as planned? What if Katja’s burdens were too heavy to be lightened by a simple day out?
As if in answer to these worries, her phone buzzed on the desk, and as Harper reached for it, her eyebrow arched in surprise at the name displayed on the screen. Rory was not one to reach out casually, and their interactions had always been sporadic at best. So why was he calling her of all people now? Curiosity piqued, she swiped to answer, a greeting already forming on her lips. However, she was quickly interrupted by the panicked voice on the other end and the words spewing out of it, her hands almost dropping her phone in the process.
“Rory, calm down. Tell me exactly what happened,” she said, her voice steady but urgent. She could hear the rapid, shallow breaths on the other end, a clear sign of Rory’s distress.
Rory took a moment to catch his breath, pacing through his room as he tried desperately to slow himself down. ”Haven’s been sleeping in my room. I just woke up, and she’s gone. The window was still open, her shoes and bag are still here. Both bags…” He paused for a second, a lingering fog still seeming to hang over him that he couldn’t quite shake. He shook his head, as if trying to shake it out. When it wouldn’t leave, he grunted before continuing. ”She said she was told Foundation students like her went missing.”
Harper’s pulse quickened, a wave of dread flooding her senses. This was it. This was her worst nightmare coming to life, the one terrifying thought that had haunted her ever since she and Haven had begun investigating the Foundation. The moment they had uncovered the disturbing truth about the missing students, a dark cloud of fear had settled over her, and now it seemed to be materializing.
Her mind raced, replaying every clue that her and Haven had gathered. Amma and Tiamat. She was now convinced they were separate names, if not separate entities, given the girl’s raw, unfiltered reactions during the trials. Harper suspected that Tiamat was intricately connected to Amma in some way. But whatever it was, her instincts told her that there was a good chance this connection extended to the ones responsible for Haven’s disappearance.
Then there was the missing student, whose abilities mirrored Haven’s, a similarity that had always unsettled her and hinted at a deeper, more dangerous conspiracy. It suggested a pattern, a deliberate and calculated selection process by Haven’s abductor, one that she couldn’t yet fully decipher. Why them? What was the motive behind targeting individuals with such specific abilities?
And finally, the faculty at PRCU, once revered as unwavering pillars of trust and guidance for Harper, had recently revealed themselves to be unreliable and shrouded in ambiguity. Their motives were cloaked in the same secrecy and deceit that Alyssa had hinted at, casting a long, dark shadow over the institution she had once held in the highest regard. This disillusionment had truly taken root after Amma’s cynical speech on the beach, where she had laid bare her view of the manipulations at play. However, it was Haven’s sudden disappearance now that was the final straw for the brunette, solidifying her growing mistrust.
Harper had always prided herself on her intolerance for incompetence, believing there was no excuse for it, especially in an institution that had weathered so much turmoil over the years. In her eyes, the trials had been a turning point, a moment that should have prompted the implementation of stringent safety measures to prevent any further incidents. Yet, here she was, grappling with the harsh reality that those she had placed her trust in had failed her once again, and in the most devastating way possible.
“Listen…” she began, her voice cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over the call. “I don’t know how much Haven told you, but we need to rely on ourselves now. We need to inform the team about everything. No teachers, not even O’Neil. We can’t trust them anymore.”
And when she considered those words further, she knew she couldn’t trust herself to handle this alone either. Not this time.
”That's not a good move.” His words were sudden, rushing out before he could think them through. He panicked. He couldn't tell Harper what was going on and what he was up to. He needed another excuse. ”Half the team is still down for the count. Lorc's out, Rora is checking on him, Gil doesn't need more stress… even Banjo has a bad leg.”
He paused, staring at the open window. He wanted to claw the surge of emotions out of his chest. But he took that moment to catch his breath. A weird realization dawned on him. ”Wait… have you and Haven been…” His voice trailed, as he didn't exactly know what they could be conspiring about. That didn't matter as much to him. ”Not important. But OK, let's say we don't let Jim know… How do you plan to find who took Haven?”
With each compelling reason stated, Harper felt the fragile hope inside her begin to give way to a growing sense of fear. Fear for the state of her team, whose cohesion now seemed precarious. Fear for the institution she had called her second home for the past year, a place that now felt like anything but. Most of all, fear for Haven, whose fate was shrouded in uncertainty. The gnawing dread of not knowing where her winged friend had been taken, or if she was even still….
Harper pushed back the tears that pricked at her eyes, threatening to spill over.
“I don’t…know,” she said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. In that moment, she felt small and overwhelmed, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the phone tighter, seeking some semblance of control. Closing her eyes briefly to gather her scattered thoughts, she added, “Maybe there’s something we can find. Some…clue.”
Rory sighed into the receiver. He had hoped that, as per usual, Harper would have the answer. Or anyone, for that matter. But no. More mysteries, more collusion, more secrets. And Rory Tyler was left trying to hold himself together as everything crushed in around him. He shook his head slowly, trying to compose his thoughts.
”Canis Dorms. Come take a look, see if you and your Elf eyes can see something. I'll throw on some clothes. Then we let the team know.”
Rory’s voice was haggard and flat. He stared blankly at a pile of clean clothes he hadn't bothered to fold. Without much warning, he hung up. He didn't have any more words to say. He tossed on an old t-shirt and some wrinkled jeans, leaving his room to settle on the common area's couch. He sat straight, staring at the blank TV without focusing on anything.
When she heard the frustrated sigh on the other end, Harper felt a sharp pang of guilt for not having the answers they both so desperately wanted and needed. She knew it would be better not to dwell on her shortcomings, and in any other circumstance, this would have been easy for her to do. But now…it was so damn hard. The whole situation pressed heavily on her, making it difficult to push past her feelings of inadequacy. Biting her lip, she forced herself to move once Rory hung up, grabbing her hoodie and throwing it over her tank top. She shoved on a pair of jeans with trembling hands, each movement a struggle against the overwhelming sense of helplessness that threatened to paralyze her just like it had during the trials.
Only this time there was no Lorcán to save her.
Once she arrived at the Canis dormitory, she found Rory sitting on the common area couch, staring blankly at the dark, unlit TV as if it might suddenly offer some answers. He looked more defeated than she had ever seen him, his shoulders slumped and eyes vacant, lost in a sea of troubling thoughts.
“Rory,” Harper said softly, her voice gentle as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, hoping to snap him out of his headspace.
Rory jolted at Harper's touch, a moment of shock before he returned to seeming a bit dulled. Lost might be a better word for it, though. His eyes darted, his heart raced, and his breathing was shallow. As he looked up at Harper, any semblance of the Rory she had known was absent. He stood up and walked towards his room, opening the door for Harper and motioning inside. ”Tell me what you see,” he ordered, an unusual gravitas to his demeanor that was often lacking. It was his voice, but it didn't feel like his words.
The room was cleaner than he usually kept it, but kept with his usual chaotic disorganization. Sporting equipment had been haphazardly shoved under the bed. A pile of clothes in a laundry basket were relatively freshly washed, but still unfolded. The walls were decorated in pictures from his time in PRCU, along with wall adverts for various games and events he had been to that would usually hang on pin up boards around campus. Haven's clutter was mixed with his, some of her clothes and notebooks mixed in with his around the room. Rory stood in the doorway. He didn't want to disturb the scene more than he already had. He rubbed a soreness in his neck, watching Harper carefully.
Harper followed Rory into his room, her mind instinctively activating her ability the moment she stepped inside, as if it too sensed the urgency of the situation. Almost immediately, a sharp spike of pain shot through her head, causing her to wince and deactivate her powers. The sudden intensity of the pain was overwhelming, and she pressed her hand to her forehead, her vision blurring momentarily.
As panic threatened to rise within her, Harper did her best to stabilize her breathing and regain her composure. She focused intently on the rhythmic in-and-out of her breaths, willing herself to push through the discomfort that clouded her mind. Gradually, she felt the panic begin to recede, though the confusion still lingered, a stubborn fog that refused to lift. Nonetheless, she turned her head, waving the other off with a shaky hand. “I’m okay,” she said, more to reassure herself than Rory. The words felt hollow, but she clung to them, regardless, a joke forming on her lips. “Forgot to warm up,” she added with a weak smile, hoping a touch of humour might lighten the heavy atmosphere and ease the tension that gripped them both.
Harper's pain and confusion shook Rory from his stupor, his hand instinctively reaching up to settle on her shoulder and give it a light squeeze. His face, formerly devoid of feeling, was washed in concern. He hadn't checked in on her the past few days, and given what he had seen… it was cruel to have to involve her in anything so soon. Guilt welled up inside, before dissipating. Harper would have kicked the shit out of him if he didn't involve her immediately.
”Take your time, Hawkeye.” He flashed a weak smile, panic and fear plain as day behind the facade. He gave Harper's shoulder another squeeze, taking a step back. He hovered in the doorway, before he simply shook his head and took a step back towards her. ”If you need me to, I can do it for-”
Harper shook her head firmly, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“It’s fine. I’ve got this,” she insisted, determined to see this through herself. Taking a deep, calming breath, she reactivated her vision, this time bracing herself for the inevitable pain. She let it roll over her in waves, accepting it rather than fighting against it. As the discomfort surged through her, the room around her came into sharp focus, every detail crystal clear. The textures of the furniture, the subtle shifts in light, and even the faintest movement became vividly apparent.
Harper’s eyes moved to the window first, noting the subtle marks on the sill where the intruders had likely gained entry. The faint scratches and scuffs told a silent story of their stealthy approach. She followed the barely visible shoeprints that trailed from the window to the bed, where the sheets were rumpled and an indentation marked the spot where Haven had been sleeping. The scene painted a vivid picture of the intrusion. “There were three of them, I think, judging by both the quantity and differences in each print,” she described, pointing at the window. She then turned to meet Rory’s eyes, her gaze intense and unwavering. “They got in through the window.”
Something gave her pause then, Harper’s eyes immediately moving to her friend’s neck. A small, reddish mark stood out starkly against his skin—a needle mark, undoubtedly from a syringe filled with something to stop him from interfering. A sedative, perhaps? Or something else she would have to be concerned about? The possibilities were endless without seeing the chemical for herself. Either way, Rory seemed physically okay so far, at least. Still, she found her hands reaching up, tapping the mirrored spot on her own neck as if to check for a similar mark.
Although that was as likely as this entire thing being one very unfunny joke.
“They did something to you. Do you…feel anything?”
Rory reached up to rub the spot on his neck again, recalling a strange soreness. ”I… felt foggy when I woke up. Slept through a couple alarms I think.” He looked to the window, then the floor. Three people came in through his window… kept him knocked out and took Haven. This was a coordinated effort. A team.
Rory sighed. ”I'll let everyone know. You think you can get us a trail or something?
In answer to his question, Harper walked over to the window and glanced outside, her eyes meticulously scanning the sill and the surrounding area. Bent bushes and faint trails in the grass hinted at the intruders’ escape route, a subtle but telling sign of their hurried departure. She leaned out, following the path with her eyes as far as she could, piecing together the direction they had taken.
“I can see it,” she said, her voice tinged with a newfound determination. The feeling that she’d lost for a bit in her room came rushing back tenfold.
Hope.
Rory whipped out his cracked smartphone, pulling up the group chat. His message was short and simple. He didn’t care if this was a trap. He didn’t care if this was all part of the traitor’s plan. He had to try.
>Haven’s been kidnapped all hands Canis Dorms ASAP.<
With the text sent, Rory quickly yanked one of his duffel bags out from under his bed, tossing it onto the bed and shoving a spare set of clothes and a couple water bottles into the bag. He felt something roll into his foot, looking down to see an old baseball bat of his. He hesitated as he looked at it, before quickly reaching down and wrapping his fingers around the grip. He lifted it up into his hands, knuckles white as he gripped it tight. His face returned to its former blank expression. He tossed it into the duffel bag, zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulder as he slipped on some shoes and headed for the door.
"Hey, I got your text... what do you need, Rory?" Mary seemed surprised to see Rory in the library, let alone hunched over a laptop in a study room. He had a notebook open to a blank page, ready to take notes. More than any of that, though... there was a strange look in Rory's eyes that she couldn't quite place. He seemed... determined. Angry. Afraid.
"Right, uh... I..." He didn't know how to explain what he needed, what he was doing, or why he was doing it. Filling her in on his secret assignment seemed like a bad idea. But Mary knew him well enough to tell when he was lying. Middle path, then, was the best option. "I'm looking at some stuff from the Trials, and I was warned it wasn't going to be pleasant."
Mary raised an eyebrow, taking a seat at the small table across from him. She leaned forward, chin in her hands as a small and devilish grin formed on her face. "What, too scared to ask Kat-"
"No." Rory's response was quick, and instinctual. Mary pretended to be shocked, but they both knew she had effectively got under his skin. Rory shook his head. "Besides... a lot happened this weekend. Before it all went bad. I..." He hesitated. He didn't quite know what to call what he had going on. They never really put a word to it. Last thing he needed to do was rush it, so he'd have to settle for the next best answer. "Look, Katja's not interested."
"Her loss."
"Yeah, thanks." He rolled his eyes, catching a glimpse again of his laptop screen. A folder full of video files was there, waiting for him. Surely, there were other ways to root out a traitor.
But all other leads were, for the most part, dried up. And with Lorc out of commission, the team all on edge, and morale this low... he needed to narrow the suspects. Besides, it would only be a matter of time before the others found out what he was up to. If he could secure himself a head start before that happened, he'd be set.
"I should get started..."
Rory sat in front of his laptop, sliding on an old pair of headphones, and opening up the first video file.
It was hard watching someone break down. Mary was lucky she only had to see Rory break. Rory watched all nine. He had to pause frequently to wipe tears from his eyes, or to stand up and pace around the room. By the end, Rory just slammed the laptop lid closed and rested his head on the table. His notebook was filled with the names of everyone, some crossed out and then re-added and crossed out again. His head pounded in his skull, his chest and every muscle in his fiber felt heavier than they ever had before. If he had the energy, he would be angry. Seething. But after watching it all, he just felt tired. He wanted to go home.
Home.
Mary walked behind him, rubbing his back softly the same way he had when they were young. "It's over, Riri. It's over."
Rory shook his head, eyes screwed shut as he hid his face in his arms on the table. "No... not yet."
Mary paused her movement. He never let her get away with calling him that. She reached out towards the notebook next to Rory. He panicked, slamming his palm over the notes. He didn't look at Mary, but she got the message. She backed away, leaning against the wall and folding her arms as he shoved the notes into his bag. "It's about the Trials, isn't it? Don't tell me you're beating yourself up over-"
"They wanted to recruit me, Mary."
Silence followed for a moment. Neither of them knew how to talk about it... or him for that matter. Eventually, Mary walked back to her seat and silently sat down, watching him as he pulled the notes out again to clean them up.
There were a few individuals he was fairly confident couldn't possibly side with Hyperion's Children, especially after the footage. The thought of Banjo taking orders from anyone was laughable, especially not the maniacs worshipping the guy who put him in the hospital years ago. Calliope was unlikely... even if the actual shotgun to the leg wasn't real, the odds they would do that to their own was unlikely. Plus, Calliope was just as unlikely as Banjo to follow the beat of their own drum. Her and Banjo had arguments... but no argument would ever drive her to Hyperion. Last on the absolutely free and clear was Haven. He paused as he crossed her name off the list. He wanted it not to be her... but the simulation tried to kill her. The images of her were going to haunt him. Now that he knew what Katja's powers were capable of... borrowing her power before confronting the traitor might be best.
His pen hovered over Katja's name. She suffered more than some in the simulation. Carving into a wall of flesh with your bare hands didn't seem like the kind of thing Hyperion's children would be for. He had never asked Katja much about her past, but what little he could piece together made what he witnessed even worse. The simulation tormented her psychologically almost as much as Haven. It haunted her with her past. But the simulation mocked him too. Did everything it could to break and mold him. And it molded Katja. Katja broke in the simulation, and what he saw wouldn't leave his mind. She was one of two who were truly willing to kill. But kill wasn't the right word. Kill was what Amma did. Katja slaughtered.
Part of his mind settled on Katja's behavior before the Trials, at breakfast. She was off... but confrontational when pushed. Maybe, just maybe, she had known. Was that why she was off that morning?
If Katja was the traitor... would anyone be able to stop her from hurting the team?
Could he stop her from killing Haven?
Had she always been holding back?
Rory moved his pen away from her name. She wasn't his first suspect... but after what he witnessed, he wasn't sure he could trust her.
Rory looked down at Harper's name, sighing as he crossed her name off without much hesitation. Like Haven, the simulation seemed to revel in torturing her in ways he couldn't even imagine. He hadn't seen her the past few days... he felt bad for not noticing the fresh scars when they all got out. He didn't know she had a sister. He didn't know a lot of things about his friends. But he was certain, between the simulation and the way she clocked how Katja was off at breakfast, she couldn't betray the team like that. In the same breath, Rory crossed off Gil's name. He got it worse than Harper did, and his continued presence in the hospital to recover was a sign that he was a clear target to be taken out. The simulation tried to kill him as much as it tried to kill Haven, it seemed.
Rory put a question mark next to Amma's name. Part of him wanted to cross it off entirely, but he knew it would be irresponsible. She had hurt him. She also used that power to save Haven. He didn't understand their interaction fully, but he understood enough. She didn't only act in her own self-interest. For a moment, she was a team player. Of course, then she turned around and hurt him. He had felt what he could only imagine to be a fraction of her power. After having seen what had happened in the simulation, that was her at her weakest. Despite the healing, lines of skin on his arms still felt raw. But at the same time... it felt like there was something underneath her words and actions that were hesitant. He knew what it was like to play a part, and to wear a mask and hope no one noticed. Even when Amma attacked him, it didn't feel like her. He didn't know how else to put it. He couldn't cross her off, but he would be surprised if it was her.
He hesitated as he hung his pen over Aurora's name, before finally placing a question mark next to it. Aurora was attacked, surely. But the danger she faced was minimal compared to the others. If anything, it felt like the simulation was trying to groom her. The fear she expressed seemed real... but Rory was so jaded at this point her couldn't tell if it was just an act. She seemed to be in a position to say the right thing at the right time for her teammates... but she seemed more devastated at the thought of being abandoned than anyone else. She wasn't his top suspect.
Not when Lorcán was on the list. He, out of everyone, seemed to suffer the least. The scar was nasty, but the tone of how the simulation toyed with him was more theater than anything. Or, more accurately... it felt like how the simulation tried to groom Rory. Aurora was there to seduce him, the evil version of him had a cool name and a scar that it ended up passing on to the real him. It didn't hand him Hyperion's robes, but it might as well have. Compounded with his behavior in setting up for the Trials, his connection to Aurora, his weird vibes with Amma, and the fact he was willing to kill in the simulation. They weren't real, and even Hot Shot could tell that surely. But out of everyone, he was one of the most likely options on his list. Besides Rory, Lorcán was set up as the only other true heir to Hyperion. Him, Rory, Katja, and Amma.
The only person Rory knew wasn't a traitor was himself.
Rory hoped Tad was wrong. Based on the footage, it looked like he was.
Rory closed the notebook, his head pounding as he stood up and shoved everything into his bag. Mary had tried talking to him, but stopped when he wouldn't respond. She had never seen Rory like this. He wasn't just vacant or absent, not even cold.
When Mary looked into Rory's eyes, there wasn't any light in the bright blue eyes.
It was a less than comfortable experience for Rory as the same strict rules that had once felt constricting were now eased. Though, maybe it was just seeing everyone run around in normal clothes during the school day reminded him of high school. As he walked towards the Academic Quad, he quickly scrolled through his phone. He still had a number of messages from classmates and teammates wishing him and the rest of Blackjack well that he had to work his way through responding. More people to lie to, just what he needed. He copy and pasted the same response, something simple about how he was fine and thanking them for their support. He couldn't even remember, and was acting more on auto-pilot than anything.
At least, until Rory's phone lit up with a text from Cassander Charon, another member of the Wolfpack. Cassander shared a house with both Rory and his cousin Lorcán in addition to a fondness for Hyperball. While he would describe Cassander as a friend, they didn't exactly communicate regularly so the message was unexpected.
>Hey, something happened to Lorcán, they've got him in the infirmary and under quarantine until further notice. Wanted to give you a heads up since I hear you're leading Blackjack now, just so you don't think he's skipping out on anything. Parents are with him, but they're not letting visitors in.<
Rory nearly dropped his phone, fumbling it into the nearby grass as he panicked. His body, instinctively, froze up. He wanted to rush to his roommate's side to check in and make sure that he was ok. He wanted to ask a million questions. Part of him suspected this had something to do with Hyperion's Children... but a cooler mind prevailed. This had to be something different. If it was connected, Jim would keep him updated. If it wasn't connected... well, then that was another egg to toss in his overflowing basket.
As he began to type out a message into the Blackjack group chat, he saw a text from Haven pop up. He finished out his message to the others first, tapping send before switching over.
>Lorcán is in the infirmary under quarantine. I'm concerned like the rest of you, but we can't see him yet. I know it's tough, but make sure you go to your classes if you can. We'll organize trips to see him when he's medically cleared.<
>Calli, let Banjo know.<
>Lorcan's in the infirmary? I'll be there soon. go on in without me if you get there first. I'm sure he'll be ok Rory<
Rory swore under his breath as he caught a glimpse of the time. He jogged to class while typing out a response to Haven, nearly barreling through some first years in the process. He managed to hit send as he stumbled into class, getting an irritated look from the professor as he nodded an apology and made it to his seat.
>Quarantined. No visitors. Heading to class. U should 2.<
As he pulled out a notebook to take notes, he felt a small pit form in his stomach. Having to text the group like that, especially after everything they had been through, was more emotionally taxing than he had realized. A horrible realization, one he had logically reached before but had not felt quite yet, dawned on him.
He was the new Tad.
But even now, Rory had bigger priorities. The one thing he knew above anything else, was that there was at least one member of Blackjack who wouldn't have listened to his request when it came to Lorcán. They were practically inseparable, and not even Jim O'Neil himself could stop her if he wanted to. Rory slipped his phone out of his pocket, holding it in his lap as he shot off a quick text to Aurora.
>Keep me posted on Hot Shot. And let me know if you need anything after class.<
He sighed as he tapped send and slipped the phone back into his pocket. His eyes turned back up towards the whiteboard, desperately trying to focus on Lacanian Psychoanalysis. But all he could think about was if Lorcán was ok.
Or, even worse... how would he feel if Lorcán turned out to be the traitor?
Antlers
King Xerxes
CabbageAngel
Oso
Eddie Brock
Mjolnir
Obscene Symphony
OfficerHeadbutt
Half Pint
Not a Sayan
